So for the past several weeks, I've existed in a state of mild vexation because I couldn't find a) my darker pair of jeans, and b) my cream-colored space squid from the outer void shirt. Given that I've done laundry -- twice! -- and cleaned my bedroom, this has seemed entirely unfair. Isn't the point of doing laundry and cleaning your living space finding all the clothes that you've been missing? And also, finding the cat? (Hint: the cat is probably under the laundry. I think Lilly's great-grandmother was a white rabbit in some magician's vaudeville act, because Lil seems quite sure that if she burrows deep enough, she'll find the land of cream and chicken.)
Yesterday, while digging around in my desk at work, I found a pair of clean jeans stuffed into a drawer. This was marginally surprising. I don't really remember why I felt the need to have a pair of clean jeans in my desk; it probably had something to do with a Union Square zombie battle, which leads me to wonder exactly when I made my commute home covered in fake blood (the natural result of having failed to don my carefully-placed pants).
Still, I was fairly pleased by this, and took them home with me.Last night, having woefully run out of productivity, and more, having failed my 'fake it 'til you make it' attempts at getting some writing done -- and with Vixy, Brooke and Kate all offline, and thus unable to provide sweet distraction -- I decided to be a good girl and get some work done around my bedroom. Despite the frequency with which I clean it, the fact remains that I have a lot of stuff, I keep bringing more stuff in, and there are some storage issues. Plus, when I'm actually in the 'no, really, I'm writing now, writing is happening, what do you mean the house is flooding with trans-dimensional hamsters, I don't care, that's why we have cats' zone, I tend to create mess by breathing. Things fall on the floor, I don't notice. Lilly knocks things over in her efforts to get my attention, I don't notice. Monsters emerge from my closet and rampage through downtown, I don't notice. It's a thing.
So I started cleaning, and then I started getting annoyed by the amount of cleaning to be done, and then I started really cleaning, and about the time I unearthed the mouth of my closet (for the first time in weeks), I found the pair of jeans that had gone missing in the first place. Huh.
Apparently, cleaning really does result in finding lost things. It just takes a little while.My shirt, however, has not yet decided to reappear, which makes me think I may need to tackle the room's deepest, darkest, most dangerous corner. So if I stop responding to messages, well, you'll know why.
The room will have finally devoured me whole.
-cadhla has some clothing issues